


Heart to Heart

by runsinthefamily



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Meg tells the truth, friendly chat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:11:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runsinthefamily/pseuds/runsinthefamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a brief moment of down-time, Sam gets a small piece of truth out of Meg. No knives are involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart to Heart

Cas gently but firmly took the brush from Sam’s hand. “Your handwriting is atrocious,” he said and then corrected some minute detail about the sigil Sam had just painted on the window.

“Okay,” said Sam. “You go ahead.”

Sam hesitated at the door to the basement, but it was quiet down there. Presumably Kevin was transcribing his little, advanced-placement heart out. 

Meg stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, arms crossed, a small, almost-fond smile on her face as she watched Cas begin to paint with firm, swift economy. She caught Sam’s eyes on her and the smile curled at one corner. “Thinking about sticking a tap in me, Sam?”

“No,” he said, without rancor. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“Good to hear.”

“Do you … want a drink?” he offered. He poked in the cupboard above the sink and unearthed a bottle of scotch, dusty but still half-full. Trust Rufus.

Meg lifted an eyebrow at him. “What is this, a peace offering? Cuz I don’t think big brother is going to be kosher with you raising a glass to our eternal friendship.”

“You came through,” he said. “With Cas. We may not trust you but that doesn’t mean we can’t be polite.”

“Sammy,” she said, pushing away from the wall. “It’s amazing, how nice you still are.” It did not sound like a compliment. “Sure, gimme a drink.”

Cas made his way around the place, that blank little smile on his face, painting carefully, and Sam and Meg sipped scotch at the kitchen table. 

“So what is this really?” asked Meg, tipping her glass at him. “Gonna get me drunk, hope I spill some secrets?”

“Demons don’t get drunk,” said Sam. 

“Oh, is that something Ruby told you?” Meg’s eyes narrowed in amusement. “We can get drunk. It just takes a lot more than a couple fingers of scotch.”

“Huh,” said Sam. “So you’re like angels, then?”

“Riiight,” she drawled. “Cas and his liquor store. He was cut off from heaven, Sam. Short on angel juice. These days the entire output of Smirnoff, incorporated wouldn’t knock him on his ass.”

“He told you that, did he?”

“He’s told me a lot.” Her gaze was direct. 

Cas and Meg, sharing secrets at night, like slumber party bff’s. Sam retreated from that one. “So, you aren’t like angels.”

She laughed a little. “Not much, no.”

“Is that why you haven’t lost any of your mojo?” Sam waved a hand at her. “I’m presuming that Crowley’s taken you off the roster.”

“So you are pumping me for info,” she said. 

“Just curious.” He shrugged.

“Alright,” said Meg. “I’ll spill. Though you could just ask your brother, he knows the answer to this one.”

Sam swallowed but held her gaze.

She leaned across the table at him. “Angels are made by god, perfect in every way. What they are, he _gave_ them, all shiny and new and tied up with a bow. But it’s all just borrowed, Sammy. The only reason Cas hasn’t gone full mortal again is because there isn’t anyone up there left with the authority or the balls to close the valve.

“Now, me.” She leaned away again, kicked her feet up onto the table. “No one made me.”

“Alistair,” said Sam, hesitantly.

“Oh, sure, he gave me the tools.” She smiled tightly, a thing of sharp, white teeth, a thing utterly devoid of humor. “But I’m the one who applied them. Demons make themselves. It’s the whole point of hell. Everything I am, I built. And that means, no one gets to take it away.”


End file.
